


to the dreams that aren't mine

by hikarimew



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, light uses of alcohol, multiple timeline memory shennannigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 05:50:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikarimew/pseuds/hikarimew
Summary: Sometimes, even pleasant dreams are unwanted.





	to the dreams that aren't mine

Nero Claudius Augustus Germanicus (Bride) spends every waking moment thinking of love. She was always on the path to self improvement, to become a proper bride (a proper wife), someone who'd master the household arts as well as she'd mastered all other arts.

Chaldea was a great place to train. All day its halls bustled with people and Servants alike, creating a pleasant cacophony all around her, each new face and experience providing waves upon waves of inspiration and motivation.

Nights were different. Most of the hubbub died down, with everyone either moving conversations and games into private rooms, or simply going to sleep.

Nero was not truly alive, so she did not need to sleep. It was an option, a luxury, and one she regularly chose to revel in. What good was being an Emperor if you could not fully enjoy the luxuries the world offers you? The softest beds, the finest meals, the proudest battles and the most pleasant of companies, those would always be her choice. To enjoy them fully and for as long as she could.

But on some nights, she did not sleep for long. On some nights, she would dream. Dream of another life of another her in another world. Dream of someone calling her name. Dream of soft brown hair and blank faces shining with the will to live. Dream of a beautiful love that was never hers, and never would be.

Dreaming of the love she longed for but would never have was hardly the most pleasant way to spend a night, so she would forgo her comfortable room and warm bed to venture the cold, empty halls of Chaldea. And hopefully, find a good drink. Those always tended to make long nights better.

* * *

Gilgamesh (Caster) knew the weight of responsibilities much better than most people. He had known this even as a child, as Sha Naqba Imuru had shown him (no matter if he wished to see or not). He could see the strain of carrying the fate of the world on the back of Chaldea’s human staff. Despite his clear bias, he had to admit they tried their hardest and pushed themselves far beyond what they could and should, especially the lone Master who took their time to open his heart to every single Heroic Spirit that walked through those halls, who offered up their entire self so easily to others.

Kings could lead by example, so he slept. To remind the feeble humans they required it too. Nobody needed to learn from his mild inconvenience during the seventh Singularity.

When it came to sleep, Fujimaru Ritsuka had a terrible weakness. Gilgamesh would be hard pressed to find a human more vulnerable to mental attacks and manipulations. He even knew it was almost impossible for Ritsuka to actually sleep at night, being especially prone to wandering through the dreams of those whose contracts they held in their soul. 

Kings protected their people, so he slept. To provide at least one safe haven, should his Master dream his way. He’d offered them help and magical tools before, to better tether their soul during sleep, but Ritsuka had refused. Other Heroic Spirits had been helped by their dream wandering before, and they could be helped so again. The human was entirely willing to face the risks, adding more and more weight along their shoulders.

But dreams weren’t only a danger for Fujimaru Ritsuka. 

Sometimes, Gilgamesh dreamt of things he shouldn’t. He dreamt of determined eyes who refused to give up on him even when he had been nothing but horrible. He dreamt of a soft voice with biting wit, someone who even at his worst age he had deemed worthy and good.

He did not allow himself to dwell on those dreams. They were so vividly, dearly seared into his Spirit Origin, and they would always be with him, no matter who he was and when he was summoned. The Gilgamesh who those feelings belonged to had left to journey with that beloved person through the cosmos and beyond.

It made him grateful for Chaldea’s eternally stormy skies. Even if he sat on one of the seemingly endless windowsills in sterile hallways, the clouds kept him from looking towards the stars and silently longing for a life that did not belong to him. His focus was needed here, in the efforts to reconstruct the timeline. He had precious little time to waste.

Sadly, sometimes, that wasted time was needed.

* * *

On nights like this in Chaldea, sometimes one might find an odd couple sitting together. Nobody quite understood what exactly made Nero and Gilgamesh friends, or what caused them to silently sit by the window, toasting and sharing a bottle of wine. But they knew, and the simple understanding between them was enough.

There was little like drinking with friends to get over bad dreams.


End file.
